Next time
by floralisette
Summary: Eliot is in the hospital, bored. Parker helps...or not.


"Next time..."

Eliot Spencer did not do hospitals. That was canon; everyone knew that. The problem was that if he happened (just happened) to be unconscious, the rest of the team didn't pay attention to canon. He was their beloved hitter, their own Mr. Grumpy Pants, and by God he was going to get the best medical attention possible whether he wanted it or not. And what would you do if you woke up and you were attached to a saline bag and a morphine drip, and you were seeing two of every fucking thing, and your ribs and your shoulder were wrapped and hurt like hell, and you didn't know where your pants were and even if you did, apparently the only nurse you were assigned was Nurse Ratchet and you couldn't charm your way past her...even if you wanted to...eew.

And that was why Eliot Spencer was bored out of his mind, flat on his back in a hospital bed.

Nate was not sympathetic.

"I told you that everyone was clear, to come in. Did you listen? No. Just had to stay there while they poured more men in." Nate's tone was mild...and smug. Told you so, was the message it conveyed to Eliot. Next time listen.

But meanwhile Eliot was bored to fucking tears. Daytime television left much to be desired, there weren't any sports on (not even baseball), those silly-assed DVDs that Hardison brought in made him want to puke and he didn't even have a nurse to flirt with...except Nurse Ratchet...eew.

"I'll read to you!" Parker was as hyper, happy and bouncy as a Tigger. "I have just the book! I love it; I know that you'll love it!" Nate nodded his approval, team bonding and all that crap.

Now...wouldn't you think that that would have sent up warning signs? A book that Parker loves? What does Parker love? Money...shiiinys...chocolate?

Parker bounced back into the hospital room bringing with her the overpowering scent of chocolate and carrying a tattered paperback adorned with chocolate fingerprints like signet stamped sealing wax. And she began to read.

Eliot listened in horror to the tale of the poor starving boy and his family, the father working at a toothpaste factory as a cap fitter, what the hell? About the four ninety-six and a half year old grandparents sharing a bed (now that's a seriously weird kink, not going there). About the owner of the chocolate factory having a contest and letting the winning children into his factory. Hello? Anyone else thinking pedophile here?

"Oooo, this is a good part!" sang the slender blond thief with terminal chocolate breath. "The chocolate river and the chocolate waterfall! And Augustus falls in!"

It was at this point that Eliot realised that her narration of the story wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Because Parker started belting out the Oompa Loompa songs, acting them out as she went, stomping in rhythm.

" 'Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop! The great big greedy nincompoop!' " Every song, every verse...on...and on...and on...

The only part that he really enjoyed was that sometimes as Parker stomped by she would card her fingers through his hair. Parker's clever fingers...Parker's chocolate sticky fingers...God damn it, he had chocolate in his hair, in his hair! Men had died for less!

In desperation, when Parker was on a potty break, he even considered appealing to Nurse Ratchet.

"Hey, darlin' "weakly... She responded with a crocodile smile. Eew.

But all good things (and all bad things) do eventually end. Parker read the last line and closed the book with a happy, chocolaty sigh. Eliot relaxed and thought about the blissful boredom of daytime television. When out of the blue...

"Nate, how much longer is Eliot going to be in the hospital? asked Parker excitedly.

"Another day, maybe two," said Nate amusedly. Parker squealed with joy.

"Eliot! I can read the whole book to you again!"

"Nate, please!" begged Eliot abjectly.

"Next time I tell you to come in, do it", advised Nate with an evil grin.

"Oooo! Eliot, could you retrieve an Oompa Loompa for me for Christmas? Pleeease?"

AN: No disrepect meant to Roald Dalh and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". One of my favorite books. My apology to any nurses named Ratchet; I had in mind the Keseyian one.


End file.
